Thursday, April 12, 2012

One of the continuing unpleasant aspects of dealing with my mother's death is trying to close down her estate. As the executor, a role I agreed to fill, that job falls on me. I knew it would be a hassle, but I had no clue just how annoying it would be. In particular, I never considered the issue of junk mail.

It keeps coming, of course; the people who mail her have no idea she's dead. If I were dealing with my own mail, that would be only a slight time waster, because I know what letters I can simply discard. With Mom's mail, though, I have no easy way to tell what's real mail and what's not, so I have to open it all.

That's how I learned that even the dead can qualify for Smith Barney's most elite American Express credit card. I wonder if they'd appreciate an email suggestion that they rename it the American Express Zombie Card.

It's also how I learned that several different hospitals are worried that a heart attack is going to hit her and want her to sign up for seminars and programs to avoid that problem. Too late, guys.

Insurance companies are eager to offer her that extra level of protection that she will surely want in the future. Once again, folks, you're too late.

A couple of companies even think she needs a new car. We're passing on that.

More annoying than all of it, though, is the new junk mail that is coming to me with her name on it. Apparently, the funeral home wants to sell me some grief counseling. I never signed up for follow-on mailings, but I never thought to tell them not to contact me, either, so I suppose they're within their rights to solicit me. I would call them, but with my current mood I'm afraid of what I might say, so I'll save that particular task for some other time.